Prince of The Abyss

...

[You have killed a Bearer demon, The Seven]

[Your knowledge grows stronger.]

[You have gained a relic]

Knowledge Rank — [Fragment]

>496/1000 knowledge shard

Almost halfway done. It was both an accomplishment and quite disappointing. He had been fighting for a long time now. The number of beasts that he has had to fight, pared to the people of the Second Ring, that came to challenge his, now seven, zones. And not to forget the Knights themselves. It has really been taking a toll on him.

And even now, he isn’t way done. He knew that from this point, he would only start to gain more, as the difference in shards gained between classes is very noticeable, but he also knew how hard it was going to be. He was going to become an Echo rank by the end of Frozen Crown; he was sure of that. If the Queen were as strong as he thought, then she by herself would give him around half the shards he has now.

But he didn’t even know how he was going to beat her. He was bleeding and had to rely on Praise after every battle to heal his wounds. And he was only winning because he was being underestimated, and because of the soul attack of his blade.

The Queen knew a lot about him from his shadow, so she wasn’t going to make the same mistake they did. She was also... immune to soul attacks.

”Shit...”

He said, lying down on the grass, in the middle of the fog. The Second Ring didn’t have vegetation; if he heard correctly, the Queen requested it, but after the bases, or whatever these giant buildings are considered, get destroyed, they reveal some grass stops hidden below where the floor was.

It was a small detail about the zones, but one he enjoyed a lot. It reminded him of the days he, Avrie, and Elpis used to rest while navigating through the Outskirts...

”Damn it”

He put his hand around his face, as he remembered some memories he wished to forget. Yet they stuck to him like a parasite chewing at him slowly.

He wanted to let them disappear, but they never did. He never thought he would want to go back to those times. Did he really enjoy traversing that wasteland together? Helping from the outskirts as Elpis killed the beasts. He could also do it now. So why did he want to go back so badly?

Why couldn’t he just wash away their death? They kept playing on repeat every time he killed someone. He wanted to go back and change everything. But he couldn’t, he knew he couldn’t. That was why he had tried to escape from the First Ring so fast. Not because he wanted to escape Frozen Crown, but because if he stayed any longer, he couldn’t bear the memories anymore.

He wondered, if Elpis had gotten the blade instead of him, could he have been able to kill the Queen, could Avrie have found a way to kill her without soul attacks?

Why was it he who survived?

...

The shadows mocked him as he walked through the fog. They laughed, they insulted him... and he could only walk, he couldn’t stop them, it was his curse, to listen to them forever. But he wouldn’t have to hear them for long. As he wasn’t going home, no, he was going to the next zone.

He didn’t care that Praise hadn’t finished healing him. He didn’t care that he was leaving a trail of blood for anyone to follow him. He didn’t care. All he wanted to do was forget the memories, just for a little bit.

His blade scratched the stone, creating a shrieking sound, one that made his own ears bleed, just to stop hearing the voices. It wasn’t helping him, of course, since shadows talked through the soul, and his own was probably weak at the moment, which was why they were so loud.

...

”Weak?” But from what, he hadn’t used his blade on himself; he wasn’t stupid. So was there a natural way to make a soul weaker? But how? He was exhausted, badly hurt, and mentally unstable, so which one of those was it? Or maybe all?

And if there was a way to do it, could he use it on the Queen?

”If there is, I will find it. Just... not now.”

He wasn’t in the best state to try and solve something that might decide if he will kill the Queen or be defeated by her.

The Jack was also immune to them somehow, so maybe he could figure it out in their fight. Was it risky? Extremely so, but it was the only plausible way.

...

...

The Eight, he was well known by everyone, yet he hadn’t figured anything out about who he was. It was as if their words were stopped by something, someone, when they tried talking about him.

But he seemed... to be a proud guy.

”One floor?”

That could only mean that he had chosen not to make any trials. Which was strange, since The Seven had three, without the fog, which is forced upon all of them.

It also meant that he was quite strong.

He took a deep breath as the doors opened in front of him. He walked through the darkness, his lamp shining, keeping his marks from activating. He walked through this veil quite a lot, which was surprising.

But before he could curse, the lights turned on. Revealing a throne in front of him, and a figure standing on it.

His eyes stared at the man, shaking from fear.

...”What?”

...

”Hm? Do you not remember me, Aether? Well, I know you don’t, because you didn’t that day either.”

...Hair as glistening as a blade newly formed to kill. Made by only the best, and wielded by the strongest. So long that it fell to his chest. And eyes that made him tremble like a child, and filled with bloodlust.

Wearing a black suit, which gave him a formal and confident feeling. With a red tie which he reglected from time to time.

...

”What the heck are you doing here!”

The figure scoffed, rolling his eyes.

”Oh, come on, my dear Fool. What else? This is my zone? Why should I not be here?”

A body that looked identical to that of a statue, and his blade, made out of the sharpest jade. One that could cut through stone with one cut, and without getting scraped even a little.

”Fine, if you really don’t remember me, I’ll refresh your memory. My name is Mors, Mors Thusia. Does that ring a bell?”

...

Aether clenched his fists. As a wave of memories washed over him. His hatred, which had been kept inside of him escaping bit by bit. How dare he stand in front of him and speak like they were old friend? How could he not remember him?

After he had killed Elpis, how could he not remember him?

He did, he remembered him very clearly, when those memories repeated themselves, how the heck could he ever forget him?

...

He took a deep breath. His blade slowly fell through his marks and into his hand.

”Thusia, so your Elpis’s elder brother, right?”

...

”Yeah? What does that have to do with anything?”

...

That had been everything he needed to hear.

He clenched his blade tightly, the hilt scraping off the skin of his palm. But he didn’t even notice it; he hadn’t even felt the pain. He had no idea of what was happening around him. Only that he had to kill him. Just like he had killed Elpis.

This was his revenge, the thing he had been wanting for a while now.

He wasn’t going to retreat, no matter how injured he was. It didn’t matter if it ended up killing him. He was going to do it here, on he will never be able to look at himself again.

He wrenched the blade back, hungry to drive it forward. But he waited until it was close enough.

And yet before he could do it, he heard a loud shriek that made him drop his blade and fall onto the ground, trying to cover his ears. Blood flows through the cracks of his fingers.

It continued for a while, making him roll on the ground, trying to make it stop. But when it did, it was followed up by a cocky laugh that was as bad as the other sound. It made his blood boil.

”Look at you rolling on the ground like a dog. You probably didn’t expect me to have this ability, did you? The others only had abilities related to their card, but I had already had this ability before you gave me my path.”

Aether tried to catch his breath, but he seemed to be unable to find oxygen in the thick air. He hardly even heard what Mors said, and neither did he care at the moment.

He had to find a way to survive, no, to kill him.

But how, when he was brought to the ground from one attack?

He felt a flame of rage burning inside of him.

...

...

But he wasn’t the only onewho was full of rage at the moment.

[Hatred of the Fallen]- Losing is something dishonorable. The Blade shall not accept it; its rage gets stronger whenever the awakener is brought to their knees, injured drastically. Even more if it’s done by a God. The awakener can use this rage to become more powerful for a short time.